


Got What You Need

by demaurellant



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: A smidge of kink (?), Allusions to Mickey liking it rough, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, In that Mickey is tied up and has to wait, M/M, Typical Ian + Mickey banter, possible D/s undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29027736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demaurellant/pseuds/demaurellant
Summary: “I've had years to learn this body, Mick,” Ian said conversationally, his tone back to its normal lightness and the contrast of its innocence with the absolutely filthy way that he was staring at him was enough to send more heat spidering across Mickey's body. “I know exactly what it needs.”-aka I couldn't get Ian's "you ever make someone cry before? [...] no, from ecstasy." exchange out of my head.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 11
Kudos: 195





	Got What You Need

**Author's Note:**

> I'm ten years late to this fandom but it's my newest obsession. I've never written for it before (so obviously I jumped straight into smut) so apologies for any wonky characterisations. There's no particular timeline but probably a semi-au in which they already have their own place by now.

They had been at it for days, probably. That was all that Mickey could assume, at least, considering his concept of time had left him a long time ago. His world had narrowed down solely to the four walls around him, the stick and slide of the sheets beneath his skin and the throb of arousal that pulsed throughout his whole body. The window in their room was open but there was barely a breeze outside in the Chicago summer so Mickey's body was beaded with sweat and the hairs at the nape of his neck were sticking to his skin. He might have been a little self-conscious about the state that he was in was Ian himself not looking in similar disarray, his fiery hair drooping slightly from its usual style and a flush on his skin that started at his face and disappeared down towards his chest. He still looked fucking hot.

Ian had already come twice, the bastard. Mickey could still taste the remnants of round one on his tongue, the salty and slightly bitter tang evident every time he tried to swallow past the scratchiness in his throat. Ian had slowly fed him his cock, curling his fingers in his hair just on the border of too tight just how Mickey liked it and guided him in a painstakingly slow rhythm until Mickey was all but straining against the grip Ian had on him, trying to take him faster and deeper. He had never really thought that he would enjoying sucking dick – having his own sucked, sure, no guy would say no to that – but just like so many other things Ian had gotten him to reconsider his own world view. Getting down on his knees didn't make him a bitch it made him fucking powerful, as much as that cliché saying made him want to gag. He was the one that was in control of the pleasure that coursed through Ian's body and, well, if the sounds that Ian made shot straight to his dick and made him harder than a rock that was nobody's business but his own.

Round two by comparison was cooling rapidly in a puddle on his chest which, objectively, was pretty fucking gross. Mickey had wanted to bitch him out about it the moment Ian had crawled up his torso to start stroking himself and Mickey had realised what it was that Ian had intended but somehow he hadn't managed to get around to it. Ian had had that look on his face, the one that was equal parts proud and predatory and which never failed to have Mickey's skin prickling with electricity. Unlike the other marks they occasionally left on each other – the bite marks or the long red scratches – it wasn't one for the benefit of other people to see. It was just for them and if the thought of Ian wanting to lay claim to him in some small way made involuntary warmth bloom in his chest that was again his own business.

In all Mickey was trailing a little in the orgasm stakes and it really wasn't fair. Ordinarily he would have taken matters, quite literally, into his own hands but he couldn't even do that because his wrists were bound together to the headboard with one of Ian's fancy ROTC knots or something and pulling against it had gotten him nowhere except out of breath. It was a vulnerable position and there was still a tiny voice in the back of his mind – sounding suspiciously like Terry – telling him that he needed to kick Ian in the balls and get out of there but those types of thoughts were getting easier and easier to ignore. Especially when it came to Ian. He found that he even enjoyed fucking face to face now – something that had seemed almost inconceivable when they first started messing around – because once he had gotten over the hangup of over thinking what traitorous emotions might be visible on his face he found that he actually greatly enjoyed seeing Ian's own expressions. The concentration and the pleasure and the overall naked lust. There was one look in particular that he got sometimes when he thought Mickey wasn't looking and it never failed to make Mickey's chest tighten; a kind of bewildered awe like for some reason Ian felt that he was the lucky one rather than it being the case of Mickey reaching so far out of his league it was a surprise he didn't sprain something.

“Hey...” Mickey was pulled from his thoughts by a gentle voice and he blinked back to awareness so see Ian hovering over him, head tilted in curiosity. He slid a hand across Mickey's collarbone to come and rest against his neck, as warm and as solid as a brand, and ticked his thumb lightly back and forth over the skin there. “...where'd you go?”

Since Mickey wasn't about to admit that he had somehow let himself get distracted by his own fucking feelings of all things in the middle of sex he merely gave the best rendition of a shrug he could give in his position and said dryly, “Just tryna think if there's anybody else who might be down for a fuck since you seem to be taking your sweet ass time over here.”

“Asshole,” Ian said fondly, huffing out a laugh as he did so. He slid his hand from Mickey's neck to his chest, thumb catching on his nipple as he did so. When the action made Mickey jerk slightly, a jolt of sensation going down his spine, Ian's expression morphed into a sly grin and he did it again, pressing slightly harder and catching the sensitive area with his nail in a move that made Mickey groan. Ian's tone dropped an octave, a deep rumble that Mickey could have sworn he felt in his bones, and his next words were laced with heat, “You think anybody else could handle you? Fuck you like I do?”

Like some kind of Pavlovian response Mickey's whole body shivered at Ian's tone and the urge to rut up, to try and get some kind of friction on his aching dick, was almost overwhelming but he somehow managed to tamp it down. He licked his lips, because his mouth had gone suddenly dry, and arched a single eyebrow. “I dunno, man. I mean, it's a big world out there and-”

Mickey didn't actually get to finish his sentence because Ian suddenly leant down to take his nipple into his mouth instead and the words trailed off into a hiss. Ian sucked hard, grazing the hardened nub with just the hint of teeth, and Mickey arched up into the sensation, heels scrabbling on the mattress as he tried to get traction to thrust his hips up. Just before their bodies could meet Ian just as quickly sat back again and Mickey dropped back against the sheets with a pained groan. His orgasm was so close he could almost taste it but each time it skittered just out reach thanks to the asshole above him.

“I've had years to learn this body, Mick,” Ian said conversationally, his tone back to its normal lightness and the contrast of its innocence with the absolutely filthy way that he was staring at him was enough to send more heat spidering across Mickey's body. “I know _exactly_ what it needs.”

That much, at least, Mickey could not deny. Unlike some of the absolute disasters that made up his early sexual exploration he'd never had a bad fuck with Ian. Even when they had been mostly confined to secret hookups in the back of the Kash-And-Grab they'd been good (Mickey wouldn't have let things continue back then if they hadn't after all) but once they were out and able to spend time together Ian had seemed determined to learn Mickey's body properly. He knew every little cue and tell that Mickey had and, fuck, did he put the knowledge to good use. Still, there was no need to inflate Ian's ego any further. Certainly not when he knew Ian just as well.

“Really? 'Cause right now it's feeling like the opposite.” Planting his feet on the mattress Mickey let his legs fall open as wide as they could, arching his back as he did, and let his voice drop to a husky cadence of its own. “Can't you tell what I need?”

Ian's pupils dilated and his hips gave a jerk forwards that seemed totally involuntary but either his previous orgasms had temporarily tempered him somewhat or Mickey had underestimated how much self-control the redhead had because he didn't immediately jump on him like he might have done at other times. Still, he did seem to have had enough of Mickey's bitching at least and in lieu of responding seemingly decided to occupy his mouth with a kiss instead.

Just to continue on with the pretence of being pissed off Mickey put on a show of pretending to resist, nipping at Ian's bottom lip in petty vengeance and twisting his head from side to side so that their lips just barely slid against each other, because he knew exactly what it was going to get him. He wasn't disappointed when Ian's hands shot out to cradle his head, fingers splayed and grip firm, in order to hold him still. The first few times they had kissed it had seemed like a deliberate action, like Ian was worried that if he didn't hold on Mickey might suddenly change his mind and run away (which, okay, back then hadn't been entirely out of the realm of possibility). Now it just seemed like it happened instinctively, a hand always on his neck or his cheek or at the back of his head, and Mickey could have argued that he didn't need to be treated like something that needed to be protected or kept safe but he'd also never tried to shake it off so it was a little bit late for that.

With the grip that he had Ian used it to tilt Mickey's head exactly the way that he needed to in order to deepen the kiss, pressing down on his jaw with his thumbs until Mickey was forced to open his mouth to ease the pressure at which point he slipped his tongue inside. Ian kissed him slowly and thoroughly, making a pleased sounding little noise in the back of his throat like tasting himself on Mickey's tongue was some kind of delicious treat. He kept pressing closer and closer and since he still had both hands on Mickey's face he had no way of bracing himself, instead just laying himself directly over Mickey and forcing him to take his weight. Mickey could barely breathe, his chest expanding rapidly and shallowly, and he certainly couldn't move but the feel of the hard lines of Ian's body pressed against his own at every conceivable point was enough to have him groaning softly into their kiss.

Eventually though, when he was starting to get a little light headed from not drawing in enough air, Mickey was forced to bite Ian's lower lip with a little more force to get him to pull away which he seemed to do with great reluctance. Mickey sucked in a couple of breaths before fixing Ian with his most unimpressed glare. “Are you actually trying to suffocate me beneath your giant ginger ass?”

“Sorry,” Ian responded automatically, though he certainly didn't look apologetic. Indeed he seemed far more distracted with running his tongue over his lower lip, like he was still chasing the taste of Mickey, and the sight made Mickey's traitorous dick twitch. A movement that did not go unnoticed by Ian if the way his expression twisted into a mischievous smile was anything to go by. “Though let's not pretend that wouldn't be your ideal way to go.”

At any other point in time Mickey might have made some kind of self-deprecating joke, something about him not getting a choice because he was a Milkovich and his destiny was to die at the hands of his father or in some kind of drug deal gone wrong before he managed to hit his thirties, but one look at Ian's stupid goofy face and he couldn't find it within him to wipe it off. Instead he just rolled his eyes and huffed, “What the fuck ever. Are you getting on me now or what?”

Predictably Ian just laughed, the fucker, like Mickey's ire was something amusing rather than intimidating. God sometimes he missed the days when he could send him running with a glare or a snapped threat – back before they started hooking up and before puberty decided to bless the scrawny little kid with an extra 50ft in height and the body of an actual god. Only sometimes though because he definitely wasn't going to pretend like this wasn't a hundred times more satisfying.

Ian smoothed his hand up Mickey's thigh slowly and Mickey's leg twitched slightly at the ticklish sensation. The movement made Ian tighten his grip slightly, pressing in until Mickey was fairly sure he was going to have little crescent moons left on his skin from Ian's nails. “You're so damn impatient, you know that?”

The sound that Mickey made was somewhere between a scoff and a growl because he had sat through two of Ian's own orgasms, fuck you very much, and hadn't tried to kick his ass at the injustice of it. Mostly because he was tied down but that wasn't the point. “I'm going to have died of old age before you decide to get with the fucking programme.”

“I just wanna make you feel good,” Ian said softly, switching tactics and adopting the incredibly earnest demeanour that made Mickey want to simultaneously give him everything that he wanted and punch him in the face in no particular order. Mickey wasn't quite able to stop his expression from twisting into something akin to disbelief and he had just opened his mouth to respond that he had waited long enough and getting him off would be a pretty good way of making him feel good but Ian continued before he was able to get the words out. “You're already this keyed up and we haven't even fucked yet. Think how intense it'll be when I finally get my dick in you.”

And... okay. There was no denying that Mickey's curiosity was a little piqued. Long, drawn out sex was still something that was new to the both of them after a lifetime of illicit hookups in the Kash-And-Grab or whatever quick fucks they could find time for in between looking after Yev when they had lived at Mickey's and avoiding the thousands of Gallaghers when they had lived at Ian's. Even now that things were good between them Mickey didn't tend to have the patience to wait it out – because why the fuck wouldn't you immediately chase an orgasm when it felt so damn good? - and more often than not Ian was more than willing to give Mickey the rough, hard fuck that he craved.

The silence as Mickey thought it over must have stretched on for a little too long, however, because Ian just gave a small shrug.

“Just a suggestion,” He said before Mickey could think up any kind of response, casually leaning over Mickey's torso so that he could reach the bottle of lube that had gotten tangled up in the sheets. “Shoulda realised that the word 'wait' isn't in the Milkovich vocabulary.”

They had already started the prep a little earlier whilst they waited for Ian to get hard again between rounds one and two and so two fingers slid in easily, all the way to what felt like the second knuckle without any resistance at all. Sparks shot up Mickey's spine and he tilted his head back against the pillow beneath him, exhaling a low, rough moan towards the ceiling. Ian's fingers always felt a hundred times better than his own - they were longer and thicker and capable of reaching that perfect spot inside of him with ease – and he knew that he could easily come from them alone. Had done so more times than he could count. Ian withdrew his fingers slightly before pressing them in again a little harder, curling them a little as he did, and Mickey muttered a few choice expletives under his breath as he adjusted the position of his own hips, trying to help him get the angle that would make him see stars.

So distracted was he that he didn't notice the mattress shifting as Ian moved around on it. In fact the only warning that he got was Ian's huge hand splaying across his stomach a half second before Mickey's dick was enveloped in tight, wet heat. It was a good job that Ian was holding him down because he nearly broke his spine with how sharply his back arched and choking Ian to death would have ruined the mood somewhat. He wasn't sure whether the sound that escaped him actually constituted as separate words or whether they were just one long string of _holyfuckingshit_ but he didn't really care because after so long without any kind of direct stimulation to his dick it felt like someone had connected a livewire beneath his skin. Pleasure shot through him so quickly it made his head spin and it was all that he could do to keep breathing, harsh pants gasped up to the ceiling, as everything narrowed down to _hot_ and _tight_ and _perfect._

After a moment Ian's movements stopped and Mickey hadn't realised that he had closed his eyes until he had to force them open again, looking down the length of his body to the man crouched between his thighs and unable to stop another low moan from escaping him, rough and clipped like it had been kicked out of him. Ian was already watching him through hooded eyes and if it had not been preoccupied with Mickey's dick he was fairly sure his mouth would have been twisted into a smug smile. Once they had made eye contact Ian made sure to keep holding it as he started moving again and Mickey's low drawn out _fuuuuck_ lasted the entire length of time it took Ian to slowly slide his head up and then back down, pausing when he had taken Mickey as deep as he could. Mickey could feel the puffs of air against his skin as Ian breathed heavily through his nose as well as the twitch in his throat as he fought against his gag reflex in the way that only years of practice had allowed him to perfect.

“Ian. Fuck. I-” Mickey wasn't usually one to beg – demand was more accurate – but he was fairly sure that he was only a moment away from cracking and promising that he would do whatever Ian wanted if it just got him to start moving again. Ian held him there in his throat for a handful of seconds more whilst Mickey's entire body trembled violently before he pulled back with a gasp, taking a moment to catch his breath. He licked his lips like Mickey was the most delicious thing that he had ever tasted before leaning back to take him into his mouth again, the same hot, tight suction from before but with more speed and determination to his movements. He knew every trick to make Mickey fall apart and it seemed that he was intent on doing just that.

Mickey's impending orgasm rocketed towards him far quicker than he expected, heat spreading through him like wildfire, and though it would have been easy to just allow himself to fall over that edge he somehow managed to convince his mouth to say, “Wait. Fucking wait.”

Ian stopped instantly, because he had always been a considerate fucker and that didn't change in the bedroom no matter what they were doing or how deep they were into it, and sat back on his heels. His lips were shiny and wet and his eyes were a little wild looking and Mickey had to suppress a groan at the sight, planting one foot on the mattress and bringing his leg up between them as if putting a physical barrier up might help him think better. It didn't.

“Mickey...?” Ian's eyebrow raised but the hand that he rested on Mickey's leg was gentle and even though he had only spoken two syllables the concern that he managed to pack into them was palpable.

Above his head Mickey's fingers twitched slightly out of instinct but since he wasn't able to bring his hands down to perform any of his usual tics when he was uncomfortable he had to make do with pulling his lower lip between his teeth instead, worrying the skin there as he attempted to stop his racing heart from bursting out of his ribcage. He kept his eyes resolutely upwards – since it had already been established that looking at Ian was not helping matters – and eventually managed to inform the ceiling, “I was about two seconds away from coming.”

Ian heaved a great, over-dramatic sounding sigh and it was enough to drag Mickey's attention back down if only to squint at him suspiciously. Once again the asshole was grinning at him but his gaze was heated as it dragged slowly along Mickey's body, feeling like an actual physical caress with how much weight was behind it, and Mickey had to swallow down what would have frankly been a soul-crushingly embarrassing sound. It was obvious that Ian noticed by the way that his grin grew ever so slightly wider but wisely (in Mickey's opinion) he chose not to say anything because Mickey might not have been able to guarantee his safety if he had done. Instead Ian just cocked his head innocently and asked, “Weren't you _literally_ just bitching that was what you wanted?”

Mickey's eyes narrowed even further and if his hands were free he would have flipped him off for good measure because they both knew why Mickey had put on the brakes. Both knew perfectly well that Mickey had been going to cave from the very moment that Ian had made his suggestion. “Fuck you. You know why I made you stop.”

It shouldn't have been as attractive as it was when Ian's entire face lit up excitedly like a child on christmas day but, well, Mickey had always been a sucker for that look and he had to bite down on his cheek so that his own expression didn't automatically mirror it. Ian pressed a kiss to the side of Mickey's knee, which was still drawn up protectively in front of him, and then very gently started to slide Mickey's leg back down against the mattress. His tone dropped back again to that low cadence that Mickey could practically feel vibrating through his very bones, “Yeah? You gonna wait until I say you can come? We gonna come together with you on my dick?”

With a scowl Mickey shook his leg free and kicked out at Ian (who caught his ankle easily) to try and cover up the shiver that went down his spine – though unfortunately there was no way of hiding the incriminating flush that he could practically feel spreading over his skin. Nevertheless, he swallowed against the dryness in his throat and huffed out, “Not if you're gonna be fucking weird about it.”

Ian gave a brief little hum but chose not to say anything else, just kept that infuriating smile on his face as he let go of Mickey's ankle and leaned forward so that he could lick his way back into Mickey's mouth. Unlike before he propped himself up on an arm braced beside Mickey's head so that his entire weight wasn't crushing down on him which was both a blessing but also a curse because it meant that there was space to move and it seemed that Ian wasn't able to stop himself from rocking down against him. In all the time that they had been doing this Ian hadn't even bothered to get fully undressed, just unzipped his jeans and pulled everything down enough to get the necessities out, and the rough drag of the denim against the sensitive skin of Mickey's inner thighs was enough to drive him crazy.

Before his rational brain could even catch up Mickey had hooked a leg around the back of Ian's thigh, using it as leverage to yank them into a push and pull grind. Ian was nothing if not obliging and he put more of his weight into the movements, forcing Mickey to just take it as he ground down hard and fast in a crude imitation of how they usually fucked. It had been long enough that Ian was hard again and the throb of arousal that shot through him at the feeling made Mickey's head spin, made him let out a low groan that was immediately swallowed by Ian's mouth. Suddenly all of his previous thoughts fled but that was fine with Mickey because why the fuck would he want to do any of that when he could ride this wave of pleasure all the way to the orgasm that he had been waiting way too fucking long for?

Fortunately (or unfortunately in Mickey's lust addled state) Ian had the sense to pull away before things got too far but rather than wait for Mickey to gather enough braincells together to make another snarky comment he just moved swiftly into pulling off his clothes. Now Mickey might have hated every second that Ian had spent working over in Boystown but he couldn't pretend that there weren't certain benefits that only he was now privy to. There was a confidence to Ian's movements that not many people were able to achieve, an awareness of his own body that meant that he knew exactly how to twist or turn in order to flex his muscles just right or put his body on display.

Still reeling from their heated moment of grinding Mickey could do nothing but stare, biting on his lower lip again, as more and more of the perfect body in front of him was revealed. Ian had just gotten rid of the last of his clothing and was shuffling back up the bed when Mickey couldn't take it anymore. Instinctively he tried to lunge forwards, wanting to get his hands on the expanse of bare skin that was now available to him, and the headboard creaked ominously as the ties holding him only just managed to keep him down.

Ian's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he chuckled softly. He splayed his large hands across Mickey's ribs, pressing him back down against the mattress as he murmured in a low rumble, “Take it easy, Mick.”

The sound that Mickey made was probably as close to a growl as a human was physically capable of and he arched his back to push against Ian's hands just so that he could watch the flex in Ian's biceps as he was forced to apply a little more effort to still him. Luckily Ian was able to take the hint because in the next moment he was grabbing the lube again, keeping one hand on Mickey's chest to keep him down and slicking himself up with quick strokes with the other. He slid his hands down to Mickey's hips, yanking him down the mattress and half into Ian's lap until the stretch in his arms was just on the right side of too much before pressing in. Mickey threw his head back against the mattress with a thump, toes curling almost painfully, as he exhaled a rough groan towards the ceiling. The initial breach always burned but Ian knew him enough not to stop, just rubbed his thumbs soothingly against Mickey's hips as he kept on rocking backwards and forwards against him in small increments until he was fully seated and the sharp ache had morphed into an intoxicating feeling of fullness.

“You good?” Ian asked just like he always did, his carefully crafted aura of control finally starting to crack slightly if the strain in his voice and the way a muscle in his jaw kept jumping were any indication. It was a redundant question, just like it was every time, and Mickey didn't bother answering verbally and instead just dug his heel into the back of Ian's thigh to get him moving. Ian huffed out a small chuckle but did as he had been prompted, pulling back about half way before pressing back in again. He kept his thrusts slow at first, ending each with a rotation of his hips to try and continue coaxing Mickey's muscles into relaxing.

The steady drag had sparks igniting beneath his skin and Mickey closed his eyes so that he could focus on that sensation, clipped off little moans being knocked out of him each time Ian pushed in. He didn't keep his eyes shut for long, however, because it had already been established that fucking face to face had certain benefits and he would be an idiot not to take advantage of it. The sight that greeted him when he dragged his attention back down was as amusing as it was arousing and Mickey had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing even as another throb of arousal kicked him in the gut. Ian's eyes were lust blown, sweat was beading along his forehead and he had a look of almost pained concentration on his face, jaw clenched and lips pressed together in a hard line. He looked wrecked, to put it lightly, and like he was desperately trying to hold it together. Not at all like someone who had already gotten their rocks off twice.

Whilst he was successful in not outright laughing Mickey wasn't quite able to keep the amusement from his voice as he gave Ian another little kick with his foot to get his attention and commented, “Maybe I should be the one asking if _you're_ good. You gonna blow already, tough guy?”

“Fuck off,” Ian muttered affectionately without any kind of heat to it, punctuating his words with a single, sharp thrust that had Mickey sliding up the mattress about an inch or so before he paused where he was, buried as deep inside Mickey as possible. His hands let go of Mickey's hips at last and dragged over the rest of Mickey's body instead; skimming his chest, thumbing his nipples, tracing the lettering of his tattoo, digging blunt nails into his thighs, and just overall spreading fire beneath Mickey's skin everywhere he touched. “You just... fuck, the way you look all spread out for me like this.”

Even with his head foggy from a combination of how fucking deep Ian was inside of him and the prickling heat of every touch Mickey could tell that Ian had that look on his face – that dopey look of affectionate awe - and he wriggled slightly as he once again felt the flush spreading across his body. He deliberately clenched down enough that Ian hissed out a breath from between his teeth and, when they made eye contact, he raised both his eyebrows. “Whatever, man. Less looking and more fucking, yeah?”

The slight breathlessness of his voice took the sting out of his words and earned him another little chuckle but also a brief nod and though Ian's hands continued their absent minded roaming he did at least start moving his hips again. The thrusts picked up speed and strength as the slide became a little easier each time and, unable to brace himself against anything like he might usually without the use of his hands, Mickey found himself being jolted further and further up the bed, the headboard knocking against the wall in tandem.

For a while they lapsed into a familiar rhythm, their only sounds being panted breaths, low moans and the occasional muttered curse. Eventually, however, he noticed that Ian's hands had migrated back to his hips, keeping him steady, and his thrusts were becoming a little more erratic as he kept changing his angle. Mickey knew precisely what he was trying to do but that didn't necessarily mean that he was prepared for the moment that Ian grazed his prostate, finding it with an accuracy that gave credence to his earlier claim of knowing Mickey's body and sent a jolt of electric pleasure straight up his spine, making his dick jump of its own accord. He moaned roughly, head thumping back against the mattress again, and the reaction seemed to spur Ian on into doing it again and again, grazing against it with every hard snap of his hips until Mickey could barely focus on anything except the pleasure coursing through his veins.

“Ian,” He eventually had to gasp and, when that elicited no response, he tried again a little louder. “ _Ian._ ”

Apparently realising that Mickey was actually trying to get his attention and not just moaning his name Ian arched an eyebrow in question and might have slowed down his thrusts were it not for Mickey digging his heel in again and forcing him to keep moving.

“If you don't untie my hands right now I swear to god I will-” Fortunately Mickey didn't have to try and come up with some kind of creative threat (since any semblance of rational thought was rapidly scattering to the wind) because Ian was moving even as he spoke, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ' _oh thank god'_ as he quickly freed Mickey's hands from the headboard. He had to lean forwards in order to do it and Mickey let out another groan as it forced him into more of a bend and made Ian feel like he was impossibly deeper, pressed right up against his prostate and making him feel like he could barely breathe with how full he felt. Mickey's legs tightened around Ian's waist just in case the bastard had any ideas about pulling back again but Ian seemingly had no interest in doing so, instead using the opportunity to latch onto whatever bit of skin he could reach with his mouth, dragging sucking kisses across his jaw, down his neck and along his collarbone.

After so long being stuck in the same position his arms weren't exactly the most cooperative but after a brief moment where they flailed uncertainly he managed to power through the ache in his shoulders and get them under control enough to land on Ian's body. He grabbed at whatever he could reach – the powerful biceps propped either side of him, the strong muscles in his back, the ass that flexed with every thrust - before settling on grasping at his shoulders. Ian mimicked the action, sliding his hands up and under Mickey's back until he had both hands hooked on his shoulders and was hauling him closer. The position wasn't very conducive to proper thrusts but the deep, constant grinding against his prostate as well as the feel of Ian's abdomen rubbing against his neglected dick was more than enough to have him gasping _ohshitohfuck_ with the kind of increasing incoherency that might have been embarrassing were it not for the fact he could feel Ian's lips forming the words _MickeyMickeyMickey_ against the skin of his neck. Mickey was barrelling rapidly towards orgasm again and there must have been something, a hitch in his breathing or a change in the pitch of his groans, that tipped Ian off because he pulled back just enough to drag his lips close to Mickey's ear instead.

“You close?” He breathed, the hot puff of air causing goosebumps to rise on Mickey's skin. Not trusting himself to speak, certain that his voice would sound just as wrecked as he felt, he just dug his nails into Ian's shoulders probably hard enough to draw blood in a move that made him laugh breathlessly. “Good. Do it. Come for me.”

The world ended then or maybe it was just Mickey's vision whiting out but either way the building could have collapsed around them and he still wouldn't have been aware of anything except the roaring of blood in his ears and the tingling heat that burst out from within him. After holding back for so long and teetering on the edge so many times his mind and his body unravelled at the same time and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he shivered his way through more waves of pleasure than he thought was physically possible. Vaguely he was aware of Ian saying something – muttering praise or encouragement or fucking reciting the pledge of allegiance for all Mickey knew – and of the rhythm of his thrusts stuttering, slowing and then stopping completely but he was too busy floating off in a million different directions to pay any attention.

“Oh shit, Mick.” Awareness came back eventually in the form of Ian's voice, sounding worried and confused for some reason, and the feel of his thumbs brushing against Mickey's cheeks. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Having been content to continue riding the dopamine high for as long as possible the jolt back into the real world was an unpleasant one and Mickey gave an annoyed grumble, smacking out at Ian's hands and knocking them away from his face.

“Way to fuck up the afterglow you-” He never got to finish his sentence because it was only then that Mickey realised that his vision was blurry and, to his absolute horror, when he blinked a trail of moisture escaped down his cheek. “What the fuck?”

He reached up with the intention of scrubbing at his eyes but Ian caught hold of him before he was able to. Apparently convinced that Mickey wasn't in any sort of pain the ginger idiot's expression had morphed from concern into something different and he was staring at him with an intensity that made Mickey squirm. He looked... proud almost. “Are you _crying_?”

“Fuck off.” Mickey tried to pull his hands out of the hold they were trapped in but Ian just held on to him a little bit tighter, pressing his lips against the skin of Mickey's wrists which were still slightly red from the restraints. Ignoring the tingle that radiated out from that point of contact Mickey did his best to gather the remaining parts of his scattered mind and summon up his best glare. “It doesn't mean anything.”

“Of course it does,” Ian retorted and Mickey's stomach dropped because this wasn't going to become A Thing™ was it? Ian still had that slightly smug look on his face but at least there wasn't any trace of mockery or amusement in his tone because otherwise Mickey would have had to have murdered him and that would have been an unfortunate waste. Pressing one last kiss to Mickey's wrist Ian finally let go of him but only to move until he was straddling Mickey's hips as he continued in an obnoxious sing-song voice, “It means I just gave you one of the best fucking orgasms of your life.”

Despite himself Mickey couldn't stop the snort of laughter that escaped him and he half-heartedly shoved at Ian's chest who, of course, barely even moved an inch. Stupid tall assholes and their steady centre of gravity. “Yeah, okay then, Magic Johnson.”

“You know that's a sports star not a porn... whatever.” Ian shook his head slightly and leaned down until he had his elbows braced on either side of Mickey's head, caging him in and leaving them almost nose to nose. Their chests connected with each breath that they took and Mickey suddenly noticed how fucking sticky they both were, though he was a little too distracted by suddenly having Ian so close to remember to bitch about it. “It's true. I fucked you so good your brain didn't know what to do.”

Mickey could feel the warm puffs of Ian's breath across his lips as he spoke, leaving them tingling, and he found himself struggling to remember what they were even talking about. He let his eyes drift in a slow drag from Ian's lips to his eyes and then back again and found himself subconsciously licking his own. They were so close that he could have sworn he tasted Ian as well and he gave a contented little hum. “You sure, man? Sounds like the sort of claim that needs more evidence.”

Mickey could feel Ian's chuckle rumbling from his chest and into his own and it made him grin as well, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Ian gave a little hum of his own and pressed a quick and dirty open mouthed kiss against Mickey's lips before he just as swiftly started moving down Mickey's body.

“Good job I still owe you two more orgasms then, right?”


End file.
